


Ash and Blood My Dear, The Foundations Of Our Story

by ThatOneMawile



Series: Raindrops, Red and Blue [1]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, F/M, Graphic, High Chaos, Shadow Run, Spoilers: Death To The Empress, a proper dishonored playthrough am i right?, and forgetting to honor Jess along the way, burning witches with crossbow bolts to remain unseen, just leaving ashes and blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 01:06:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9855266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatOneMawile/pseuds/ThatOneMawile
Summary: Death. It’s all there is to see. From the whispering women, her voice echoing throughout the land and the bodies handing for all to see outside of the armory he managed to slip into (With a key bought from an old bartender, he had headed straight to the crossbow bolts. What else was he supposed to use?) The looming cast-iron glow he was used to in the rat inflected city he called home was gone, the witch's curse and glazing void instead spread like vines and shadows into every corner of the land. The curse wants to spread like any disease does... or a Character Study of a High Chaos Ghostly Corvo in the final level of Dishonored 2, just doing his part for Dunwall.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as I finished Dishonored 2 for the final time, a ghostly high chaos playthrough as Corvo. It did go a bit over the top, and I know I have other things to be writing (Cough Cough Allenbert Week) but I just had to write this. So here you go! A character study of the final level of DH2 while in High Chaos, and how much joy i get from killing people with fire. because if they are all going to end up as ashes why not do it properly?
> 
> Also this is my first Dishonored fic but I've finished DH2 5 times, 4 times as Corvo and once as Emily so i'm 99% sure most of this is accurate. I'm prepared to fight for that claim ʕง•ᴥ•ʔง
> 
> And as always un-beta-ed and written with weird New Zealand/Australia spellings because why the hell not.

Death. It’s all there is to see. From the whispering women, her voice echoing throughout the land and the bodies handing for all to see outside of the armory he managed to slip into (With a key bought from an old bartender, he had headed straight to the crossbow bolts. What else was he supposed to use?) The looming cast-iron glow he was used to in the rat inflected city he called home was gone, the witch's curse and glazing void instead spread like vines and shadows into every corner of the land. The curse wants to spread like any disease does. 

 

The machine still functions - of course it does. He doesn't remember if it was Sokolov or Jindosh’s work - for once it does not have their name plastered all over it like the flowers on the gazebo in autumn (he doesn’t think of the white petals red with  _ her _ blood - or how it was her favorite thing, picking the prettiest and fullest ones as a child. They were both children then, innocent with  _ everything _ to lose.)

 

Even on death's door ( _ Void’s  _ door. How fitting for an Overseer) the Overseer can smell the corruption on him even as the witches spell grows stronger every day. Would the people of Dunwall condemn him this time or relish him as their savior again? Or would they turn a blind eye to his left hand and hope the Overseers deal with him (The music boxes - Would they work on Delilah? Would she fall like he would, be severed like Breanna and crumble to ashes the same way? Pity he couldn't use it on her without falling himself, along with them being missing since the  _ old _ days.)

 

The vines are only a physical manifestation of the scum of the city - The only blip on the radar, the tip of the iceberg. Her stone statues after all make him pause, memories of the only person he cares about encased like them licking at the barrier he has put up. He may be older but it's still as strong as ever, especially without  _ her _ voice being the one to whisper advice in his ear for 15 years.

 

He never got over it.

 

He still doesn't think he can. 

 

(The Overseer’s last moments are still as clear as the waters in Karnaca - Shock as he turned to stone, staring at his hands as he's encased forever. She never had a chance like that - So neither shall Delilah.)

 

* * *

 

Oh how they  _ scream _ \- The flames lick at her, persistent even with all her sisters meddling. She dies in agony, deservedly so for following the witch down her path for vengeance. They don't know he's there - they never do.  _ No-one _ knows he’s there.

 

He never knew they were coming - It's only polite to return the favour (Polite. Oh how many times did  _ she _ call him that? It was the only time she was wrong - Delilah, Daud and himself would never be called  _ polite. _ Strong and Vengeful, yes, Polite no.)

 

It’s too close, too many times. The witches coven have a habit of teleporting next to him, Leaving split seconds for him to react before it all goes to hell and the  _ spot _ him. They are dealt to first, and he is left making a supply run back to the bartender and her illegal market, hoping like hell he has  _ time _ . 

 

_ I’m an Agent of the True Empress  _ \- the civilian he missed on his first killing spree through the streets believes him, and gives him information he could not find anywhere else. It adds to the suspicion that Delilah is after something  _ more _ \- but what more is there to take? If all else fails however he at least has the courier on his side - and these days? The media is just as important as the facts. 

 

But he’s never cared for anything like that - he’s just the weapon, the silent shadow that is always watching, always waiting. The final time he steps through the doors to the black market - and he’s  _ sure _ it’s final - either way he’ll never need to come back, either dead or back  _ home _ . (But that's a lie - home was always with Emily and Jess. He hasn't had a home in 15 years, no matter how much he tried.  And he wasn't truly alive. Not even Emily, sweet little Emily who lost everything that day knew about it.

 

Funny how Coldridge has been cut off - The nightmares are still as fresh as they were 15 years ago, and now he doesn't have Emily’s warmth to keep him company and  _ sane _ . They both know how many more he would of killed without her and Jess - It was only there approval that slayed his blade. It’s why he barely used the heart, for fear of the all-knowing voice whispering in his ear. It’s not  _ her  _ but by the void does it feel like it. She knows of the blood on his blade and she judges like the gatekeeper - in a way only the dead can. 

 

All Seeing, All Knowing.

 

And that’s what scares him.

 

* * *

 

Too-pale skin. Raven dark hair. All knowing smile. Snow colored tiles.  _ Blood. _

 

* * *

 

_ Dunwall Luck, _ his captain used to say,  _ if everything looks like it's going well, it’ll never stay that way. Never hold your breath in Dunwall or hope. _ It was the first thing he taught to Emily after the first coup - just beating out her fighting training, as useful as  _ that _ was. The tower is ruined, all the Kaldwin lineages hard work come to  _ nothing. _ Except, perhaps, his room. It’s trashed and guarded, probably a place for Delilah to let off steam - but it’s supposed to be the final line of defence against intruders. 

 

He designed it for that reason, and never let it be said he wasn't an opportunistic. 

 

So they fall, one by one tumbling off railings and stairs while turning to ash as they rest. There's nothing but bone-carved swords and crossbow bolts falling, falling,  _ failing  _ to show he was ever there, the shadow in the rafters, the rat in the gutters. Invisible and unknown - Delilah won't know what hit her.

 

* * *

 

He can appreciate Delilah's cruel irony, testing her god-given abilities (Is she a god? She's at least  _ part _ of a god.) in the Overseer Chapel of all places, the damned room now a garden of the void and blood, branches twisting from the painting at its heart. A picture paints a thousand words, Sokolov used to say, and she's taken it to heart. 

 

It reminds him of Emily's paintings as a child.

 

He knows in his heart ( _ Both _ of them) that she's Jessamine’s half-sister.

 

He can't deny it. And that’s the hardest part.

 

* * *

 

It’s funny how the corridors sing with the void now, when before the Overseers and their damned music trickled through the spaces. He knew he was the only marked in the Tower - he made sure of it, the only source of the leaching void. The Overseer masks are a claim, a statement - Delilah was stronger now than before and nothing, not a the Overseers in their music or two Serkonian's with the title of best assassins might. She had overcome  _ everything _ , and she knew it. Flaunting her power, vines whipping and witches prowling her territory as she crept towards the end. Or the beginning. 

 

The gazebo was empty, he could see it from the top of the tower. He didn't want to puzzle over how the garden staff would of seen the assassins kill Jess, would of had evidence to prove his innocence. Everyone knows the dead cannot share secrets, none better than Burrows. It was a Spymasters curse and downfall - Secrets so dangerous the Empire never knows, so when things go wrong whether it be an unstoppable assassination plot or a internal coup (Go figure) the Spymaster is in over their head and accountable. 

 

It was all too easy to make the decision that the role of Spymaster had to be shifted, changed so it wasn't so much of a weak link in the foundations of the Empire but a key component like it was originally created to be. Emily agreed, her 10 year old brain so  _ distrustful _ of the role of Spymaster after Burrows betrayal but it was Calista who came up with the (terrible) idea of him taking the job.  _ You are already the stand in Spymaster and Regent at the moment Corvo, an extra title won't hurt.  _ No one objected - Why would they? He’d just returned the rightful empress to her throne and brought the greatest minds together for a cure. 

 

If only it was as easy this time, with so much  _ blood _ on his blade. How would anyone see what he did as right?

 

* * *

 

History will say Delilah's downfall was leaving the Royal Protector alive, stealing his charge yet again from his clutches and slaughtering thousands for her goals. History will say it was a bloodthirsty battle, a witch who stole the throne against the man who's been betrayed too many times and has been the center of too many coups in his short 54 years, an outsider who has sacrificed more than anyone else in Dunwall for the city he has no right to, pr was even born on the same land as it. 

 

But History is wrong. Delilah's downfall was her flaunting of her power, drawing all near then cutting them down and turning to stone. A simple rat crawled out of the gutters at the foot of a god, who in their ignorance didn’t watch for it. Didn’t prepare - she’d beaten him once before, stolen everything. So why should she care for a pest, one she knows is half dead and too old to fight her. Her downfall was her inability to watch the shadows, unable to see him coming. It was everyone's downfall, ignoring a rat within thousands seemingly identical, but in reality so very, very different. 

 

* * *

 

Truth be told, the vines were a  _ little  _ too much - did she really need them, with gravehounds and immortality on her side? Luckily, whether it be for either of them, he didn't know, there were no witches around, patrolling an empty area waiting for  _ nothing _ \- No-one alive knew he was there, none dead saw death's face before they died. She didn’t know he was there until it was too late, her soul returned and the heart  _ gone _ . Never more to hold a Kaldwin’s soul, giving advice and whispering the secrets of men to a dishonored bodyguard who failed not once but twice. And they say he was a  _ good _ Royal Protector?

 

Shadows can’t speak, but they can mock. Whipping void tendrils whip as Delilah  _ sings _ , notes echoing perfectly in the void, everything as it should be. Except some of the statues are  _ her _ and they live and breathe, laughing and clapping along like any other civilian. The rose queen has her throne, has everything she has ever wanted since the whispered promises from a father to a bastard child but where Emily was accepted Delilah was shunned - and her past is about to come back to haunt her.

 

The only thing better in this moment, with Delilah overlooking her final masterpiece and about to add the final strokes of her power, of the  _ void _ , is what he brings to the table.

 

A sword, Serkonan blood and a mark, inky splotches on tanned skin. He knows someone else has been here before, can feel his presence and the Outsider’s eyes watching with certainty as he makes his choice. To finish the job, stab her and leave her in her creation, stain it with the final drops of blood and ash or to give her everything she wants but  _ not. _

 

Never let it be said he was merciful, for death would be mercy for his victims.

 

* * *

 

He could take it - Leave Emily safe forever set in stone, safer than with him by her side or any number of the guards who he doesn't  _ trust  _ \- He’s so inclined to do so, feet shuffling silently towards it but he  _ can't.  _ Not with  _ her _ poster behind it - destroyed, ripped remains be damned. Not with the eyes he fell in love with watching, waiting,  _ judging _ . Would he condemn his daughter to be frozen in stone forever?

 

She’d be safe. Delilah would have  _ won _ .

  
  
But it’s always been Emily or nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> What did you think? Should I do more of this kind of thing? I live for any sort of reply, from kudos to comments :)
> 
> I also have [tumblr](https://that-one-mawile.tumblr.com) if you want to say hi, I make gifs of youtubers and video games.


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